A Place To Stay
by Klaine O'Clock
Summary: Since Molly helped with Sherlock with his 'suicide', he's been seeking refuge in her flat. Molly can't help but learn more and more about what it's like to live with Sherlock. ONESHOT, Onesided HooperHolmes.


**Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock: Don't be _OBVIOUS._**

A Place To Stay

Hello there, my name's Molly Hooper and I have been put through more than any woman should ever have to.

I sighed as I slouched down into my lazy chair and wrapped myself in Sherlock's down comforter that I let him use for the couch at night. Sipping my tea, I reflected on my last three months. I've been sharing my flat with Sherlock Holmes. Yes, _Sherlock Holmes_. Not only is he a mess, but he's _constantly_ bored with nothing to do. I tried playing Cluedo with him once, but he ended up nailing the board to the wall with a Swiss knife.

After I helped Sherlock with faking his 'suicide', he insisted that since I was the only one that knew that he was alive, he wanted to keep it that way; so he's been staying in my flat. Seriously, he won't even call John.

You know, at first I was ecstatic to help the detective out. I was all for it, he needed a strong friend and I wanted to be there for him. Sure, I was nervous about sharing my home with the only guy I really ever liked, but that quickly changed when he walked in the front door and read my life's story from the scuff marks on the floorboards. Don't get me wrong, I still like the guy – more than I should – but that was quite unnecessary.

The next step after Cluedo, was Life. We encountered similar problems; Sherlock insisted that 'homicide' and 'mass murder' should be included for a more 'real life' effect. I scoffed and he took offense, this time he used the playing board's cardboard in an experiment.

Ah, yes. The lab equipments. After his first round of boredom (I've had to hide the only gun I own from him), I was able to bring home some lab stuff from the mortuary for his enjoyment. He took over my kitchen table faster then I thought possible.

Soon after his experiments started, I began to find _body parts_ in my fridge. You know, the usual: thumbs, feet, biceps and HEADS. I was furious... and a bit impressed that he had managed to acquire them since he was on house-arrest.

The house arrest. I initiated that after I caught him sneaking past my door in an attempt at freedom. I guess he didn't like being cooped up either. At one point, I had heard from John that he played a fair bit of violin to help him think. I wasn't sure if thinking was the best for him right now, but I gave it a shot. I came across my grandfather's old violin in my brother's house one afternoon and brought it back to London with me. When I came home, I found that my flat was still intact so, thinking on my feet, I 'rewarded' him with the violin. He hasn't tried to blow anything else up after that. Thank God.

In the days that followed, I could be lulled to sleep every night by his melodies, I love when he plays, it's always so soothing and I can only hope that his mind is as relaxed as mine. No such luck. Quickly, I found that he needed a generous supply of notation paper or else he would write his composed songs down on millions of napkins and insist on keeping them laid out _everywhere_.

Another thing I found, was that when you move his things, he whines. I think he sees it as a punishment to teach those who move his things not to do so again.

It certainly worked for me.

I shuffled some of his papers into a pile on the edge of my desk so that I could work on my laptop and he moaned about it all evening. I was pulling my hair out by the end of the night. He uses anything against you, somehow he found out about a dog that I had at the age of seven and he was telling me how much Jack probably hated it when I kept moving his toys about too.

While I can't touch his things, he seems to has full range on mine. He's taken a liking to 'confiscating' my laptop, so he calls it. He just popped up one day with my computer when I only just had it with me... he didn't ask me for my password.

To advert his attention, I tried to get him into some of my books that I had lying around. He claimed that he already read them all, but I managed to find _one _that he hadn't: A woman's heart. I hadn't read it myself, let alone know what it was about – my grandpa gave it to me – until I read the back cover when Sherlock discarded it by his bed... well my couch. It was about heart disease, so I left it there hoping it might be a last resort when he got too bored again. A week later, I spotted Sherlock early in the morning with his nose buried in the pages, oblivious that I was there. I let myself have a small victorious smile.

The smile only lasted until he snapped the book closed half an hour later and began threatening me until I went out and bought him cigarettes, saying that he had put up without them long enough. My land lady forbid any smoking in her rooms, so I compromised and bought him some nicotine patches. I heard Lestrade one evening in the mortuary laughing to Sgt. Donovan that Sherlock and himself had the same brand of patch.

I only had a small flat, with one bedroom. (Unfortunately) Sherlock quickly claimed the couch as his own before I even offered sharing my bed. The only problem, was that my couch is rather small, so when Sherlock lays down, the couch ends at his knees and his legs hang off the end. The next day he had rearranged my living room so that my small table that had had a lamp sitting on was now being used as a foot rest as he slept. I found a few sheets and my old comforter for him to sleep with, though I had a bit more trouble finding a good pair of pajamas for him. So far, I could only supply him with a too short pair of eggplant purple sweatpants. Not that I was complaining about that.

It get's better, I assure you. I haven't gotten to the best part of Sherlock's stay; the part that I don't mind. Sherlock has a regular schedule. He showers precisely at eleven o'clock. Then he emerges from the steamy bathroom with his hair dripping, _solely_ wearing my old sweats. I have to turn away to hide my blush. Seeing his chest every night is almost enough to fully repay me for everything I've done so far.

Another less annoying habit of his that I came across was that when he just sits in the living room chair (the one I'm presently curled up in) and thinks, his eyes narrow and soft frowns or smiles cross his lips. I love to sit close by and watch as the emotions pass. My favorite was how his eyes glistened when something pleased him and a smile tugged at his cheeks. I would never confess to him that I do it, but it's the only time that I get to look at him, really look, without him glaring back.

Looking at the ceiling, I can clearly spot the poster of the periodic table that he pinned above the couch. How Sherlock managed to reach that height was beyond me. I thought it was cute... at least it wasn't a poster of a scantly dressed woman; that I would have burned.

I drew in a deep breath, smelling the familiar sent of my body wash that Sherlock took a liking to on his first night here, along with the unique sent of Sherlock. It was sharp, but pleasant. Almost like a bit of cinnamon... I hoped it wasn't poison. There was the smell of science experiments and violin wax. I wrapped the blanket closer to me and waited for Sherlock to emerge once again from my shower looking as wonderful and as posed as ever.

It was times like these, when he was quiet that I could think to myself and have a short bit of 'Molly Time'.

Looking ahead, I could only feel sadness, knowing that Sherlock would go back to John and forget me. I would still see him at work, but I couldn't talk to him like I do now or comfort him when needed. Sherlock would go back to his old self and once again ignore me until I was needed.

I would miss his thorough explanations when I asked a question, I would miss our little projects on the kitchen table and I would miss the look in his eyes when I answered a problem for him (no matter how rare).

I tried my best to stay farther from him, but I only seemed to draw closer and more attached. I can't help but fear for the pain of his leaving, my flat is going to feel too empty and too quiet.

I guiltily admitted to myself that I almost wanted for him to stay here forever and forget John and Mrs, Hudson. But, I could never make him leave his friends behind, it would only hurt him more than he would admit.

Hearing the bathroom door open, I kept my eyes forward and my back to the door. I didn't want Sherlock to leave the bathroom and find me staring when he exited. I felt his presence behind me so I looked over my shoulder and was met with a clear view of his belly button. Blushing, I looked up from his slightly toned chest to see his face from where I was sitting. He looking at me with unanswered questions, his eyebrows furrowing in the most adorable way possible.

"You took my quilt." Sherlock pouted.

"I was cold." I retorted, attempting to tease.

"Well I need it to sleep. Don't suppose you went to the book store?" Sherlock said curtly as he tried to untangle his blanket from around me.

I stood to could make his job easier, "No. you haven't given me any book titles yet."

He froze for a moment, "Haven't I? I mentioned a few yesterday."

"I wasn't here yesterday."

"No?"

"I was at home with my mom for the day."

Sherlock didn't say anything as he gathered the comforter in his arms and strode over to the couch and laid down.

"I need to think. Leave." He said dismissively.

Rather than argue, I left. Bidding him a good night, I went to my own room and went to bed. I had an early work day tomorrow. Still plagued by a few thoughts of him, I drifted into a deeper sleep as I dreamed.

**A/N: I love writing Sherlock stories... and the one-sided aspect of Molly and Sherlock's relationship.**

**Oh. Hey, I was just rewatching the finale, and I saw that John didn't actually _see_ Sherlock's impact. His view was blocked by a garbage truck.._. an open topped garbage truck full of garbage. _I would hate to have it be so mundane, but what if Molly is driving it and Sherlock landed inside?**

**Review to you hearts' content, because frankly, that's what those amazingly, beautiful buttons down there are for.**


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